


i'm your little harlot, starlet

by SlayBelle (theswisswereright)



Series: we're on a quick, sick rampage [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Bitty Death (Chapter 2 Only), Bitty Heat, F/M, Fingerfucking, Now With a Torture Porn Version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-26 19:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswisswereright/pseuds/SlayBelle
Summary: You never thought you wanted a bitty, and you never thought you'd end up with one, but this might just work.Chapter 1 is the regular porn version, no warnings except for the obvious. Chapter 2 is the torture porn version, and the warnings on this fic apply to that chapter only. Pick your favorite, or read both!





	1. i'm your little harlot, starlet

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with regular porn, not torture porn, this time. I actually intended this to be torture porn, but you see how well that turned out (and by that I mean I couldn't think of a satisfying way to fuck the bitty to death). Credit for the bitty type to ammazolie, who I hope doesn't mind me playing with her toys!

“I don’t CARE about obligations, I’m getting the FUCK out of here,” your (soon to be ex-) roommate almost shouted, tossing clothing from her closet into a waiting duffel bag. “You have some SERIOUS problems, and I’m not dealing with it any longer.”

She may have been partially right, but it was still rude to storm out on her half of the lease and leave you to make up the rent until you got a new roommate. As it was, you’d thrown up your hands on the situation when she went through your laptop, found your porn stash, and freaked out. So what if you were into some kinky shit? You never even brought anyone home, while she was making a racket three times a week, which was not a very neighborly thing to do, in your opinion. Apparently, her Christianity didn’t permit her to live with a dirty pervert, while running through half of the local university’s Class of 2023 was perfectly fine.

From your place on the couch, you could hear her dragging boxes and bags out to her car. You tried to block out the noise, flipping from channel to channel on the apartment’s TV until you heard a small jingle. “Keys are on the counter,” she said by way of goodbye, and shut the door. 

You waited a few moments to make sure she wasn’t coming back, and then went to her room to see what kind of shape it was in. You’d probably have to do some cleaning before you could advertise for the vacancy. The bed, dresser, and desk were all where they were when you had moved in, as it should have been, while all of her pictures and posters had been removed from the walls. Maybe the cleaning wouldn’t have to be too intense. All was well in your mind until you noticed the cage still resting on the dresser. The… occupied cage.

You left the room, running out the front door in hopes that you might catch her in time. You were lucky, as when you reached the parking lot, she was just getting into her car. “Hey, you forgot your… bitty thing!”

She didn’t even turn around, just kept buckling her seat belt with the car door open. “You can keep that thing. I thought it would be a cute pet, but it’s as disgusting as you are! You freaks deserve each other.” With that, she closed her door and peeled out, wheels not leaving rubber on the pavement, but coming close.

You stood there for a moment, mostly at a loss. You were fine with getting a new roommate, and even had some savings to cover the rent. The real wrench in the works was the bitty. You didn’t particularly like pets to begin with, and had asked her to keep hers in her room while she lived there so you wouldn’t have to deal with it. She’d been good at keeping to that, at least; now you would have to go inside and deal with it. You dragged your feet walking back upstairs, thinking of what to tell it. Was it even intelligent? Was it smart like a person, or… you’d heard some bitties were essentially toddlers mentally. That would not be easy to handle.

When you reached the doorway to her room (not her room anymore, but the second bedroom), you took a deep breath to steady yourself and walked over to the cage. It was a lot like a hamster cage, you noted, right down to the exercise wheel. The bottom was covered in carpet, not shavings, but close enough. You leaned over the top of the cage and cleared your throat, figuring you’d let it start the conversation. Sure enough, it stepped out from the covered “house” in the corner, where you assumed it slept. You’d never seen it up close before, and took a couple of seconds to blink at its strange appearance. Your ex-roommate had told you it was a “Swap Yanyan” type, essentially a Sans version of the more common Yandere Papyrus. You weren’t sure what that meant, knowing next to nothing about bitties except that they were skeleton creatures. Therefore, you were surprised to see that this one had plenty of green-tinged ecto-flesh on its bones. It was overall short and plump, with a bratty expression on its face. It almost appeared to be wearing makeup, and was dressed in some sort of… ribbon top tied into a bow, with a matching pink miniskirt. Gold-colored plastic jewelry fairly dripped from its neck and head. It was, possibly, the weirdest damn thing you’d ever laid eyes on. It appeared to think the same about you, and eyed you warily. “You’re… not my owner.”

“Uh… no, no I’m not,” you responded. Okay, so it wasn’t entirely stupid. Maybe you could work with that. “Um… it doesn’t seem as though she’s coming back,” you continued, watching the bitty waddle over to the bars to glare at you more directly, like this was somehow your fault.

“I guess you’ll be looking after me from now on, then,” the thing spoke nonchalantly, shrugging a shoulder and putting its nose in the air. “Get me something to eat.”

Okay, no. You were already having a rough day, and this spoiled little meatball was not going to start ordering you around. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” it said, in the same haughty tone. “I’m hungry. I want some meat.”

Well, that was not going to fly. “It looks like you’ve had more than enough to eat, you little brat,” you replied. “You’d better start being respectful, because I’m the one who will be deciding what happens to you from here on out.” You didn’t understand why you felt so angry, except that this thing reminded you of your departed roomie, and you were absolutely pissed at her.

The bitty’s glare faltered for a second, and then it spoke again, in a softer tone. “…I really am hungry, though,” it said, pouting. It seemed that was as close to an apology as you were going to get. 

“I’ll see what I can find,” you said. “Do you… have a name, or something? I can’t just call you “hey you” forever.”

“My species is “Dere,”” it answered. “She never gave me a different name.” At this, it shuffled its feet and looked almost sad. “She didn’t like me very much, I don’t think.”

Not wanting to hear the sob story at this exact moment, you turned and walked toward the kitchen, tapping at your phone. Apparently this type of bitty did eat raw meat, and liked sweets. You knew there was no meat in the kitchen, but wondered if it would put up with lunch meat. At the very least, you’d have to feed it until you could get it to a shelter of some kind. You weren’t going to keep the thing, after all. 

The bitty—Dere, you reminded yourself—turned its nose up at the slices of ham at first, but when you looked away, it began stuffing its face. “Are you good for now?” you asked, wanting to get started on calling the local shelters. “Do you need something else?”

You shouldn’t have asked, honestly, because when Dere opened its mouth you knew there was, in fact, something else. “Um… could you…” it began, trailing off and blushing green. 

“What,” you said, losing patience with the dithering. 

“Um… could you… maybe hold me for a minute?” it asked nervously.

You rolled your eyes internally, but tried not to show it on the outside—Dere had had a bad day too, after all. After another deep breath, you reached for the locks on the cage and held your hand out to the bitty. It let you grasp it around its middle and remove it from the cage, and then place it sitting up into the palm of your other hand. Its legs dangled off the side of your palm, and you marveled at how heavy it was. A couple of seconds later, your wrist was getting tired, and you moved to put Dere back in its cage. It began whining when it realized what you were doing, and wrapped its arms tightly around your thumb. “Please don’t!” it shouted, clinging on as tight as it could. “Just… a little bit longer?”

Its eyes looked sad, and you wondered if its previous owner had ever held it at all. It really was getting heavy, though, so you cupped your other hand around its back and brought it to rest against your chest. Dere finally seemed to relax, going limp against your warmth and trilling out something a lot like a purr. It was sort of nice to hold, you mused, even if its personality was clingy and bratty. You really did need to figure out what to do with it, though, and you couldn’t do that with it staring at you. That would be weird. “Is that enough now?” you asked.

“…yeah,” it answered, although you could tell it wasn’t the truth. “You can put me down.” You took Dere at its word, and placed it back onto the carpet inside the cage. “She never did that,” it spoke up sadly, and then went back into its little house where you could no longer see it.

You left the room and went back to the couch, scrolling through your phone and looking at the different pet shelters in your area. Most of them didn’t accept bitties at all, and the ones that did were a substantial drive away. There was only one facility less than an hour from your address, and you clicked on the phone number to call.

\-----

“Okay, thank you. Bye,” you said, then pressed the button to hang up and sighed. The nearby facility did accept bitties, but it was seriously overfull. The employee had said that if the bitty wasn’t yours, you could bring it there, but it would probably be put down in short order, because it wasn’t a desirable type like a Blueberry or Cherry. You didn’t want to keep Dere, but you couldn’t deny that it seemed to be a sentient being, and you’d feel bad dumping it somewhere just to be euthanized. It was after five, so maybe you’d call some of the facilities further away tomorrow. As it was, you felt like you should probably go check on Dere again—it had been about an hour. You got up and walked back into the second bedroom. “Hey, uh, it looks like…” you trailed off, as you immediately got a sense that things weren’t right.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. You couldn’t place it, but the air had a definite tang that hadn’t been there before. The second thing you noticed was the noises coming from the bitty cage. Had it been sick? Maybe the lunch meat hadn’t been a great idea. You walked over to check it out, and were surprised by what you saw, for the second time that day. Dere was kneeling on the floor of the cage, knees splayed around a bright greenish-blue puddle. You would have thought it had had an accident, but for the bony hand furiously working between its knees. The sounds you thought had been pain were actually desperate moans as the bitty rubbed itself frantically. It appeared to have manifested female genitals, although you weren’t sure if that was the usual state of affairs. Either way, you had trouble on your hands, and… had it always been so hot in here? “What are you doing?” you asked, feeling slightly dizzy.

“Heat,” Dere moaned, seemingly incapable of a complete sentence. “Fuuuuuck,” it moaned again, flopping backward, thrashing around. It did not seem happy, and your hand went immediately to your phone. _Bittybones heat_ , you typed in, and quickly scanned the results. From what you read, a touch-starved bitty could be triggered into heat just from an affectionate touch, which might be what had happened here. You shook your head a couple times, trying to clear your thoughts from the fog that had settled over your brain. No matter what, you’d have to do something about this, or Dere would literally die. You hadn’t thought you’d want anything to do with the sexual needs of the little creature, but the idea was sounding less and less insane as time went on. Were its pheromones getting to you?

Either way, you couldn’t leave it this way. You popped open the cage door and picked up the bitty inside, grimacing slightly at the fluids that dripped onto your hand, and then carried it over to the desk. You placed it on the unused desk planner that remained, figuring that the paper would at least provide some cushion. Dere noticed the lack of touch immediately, and looked at you with hazy eyes. “Fuck me,” it demanded, hand continuing to work between its legs. “Fuck me right now!”

Apparently, heat didn’t make it any less of a brat, you thought as you flipped up the tiny pink skirt. It wasn’t wearing any underwear, so you steeled yourself and placed one fingertip on its tiny, sopping pussy. You felt an almost electric jolt run through your hand and up your arm, and you felt as though your brain had been slightly fried. You began rubbing your fingertip in circles, and Dere’s moans became louder as it ground its pelvis into your touch. “Pleeeeease,” it moaned after maybe a minute had passed. “Need… please. Fuck me.”

When you didn’t react immediately, Dere’s eyes snapped open, and he began more aggressively humping the fingertip that had stilled on its pussy. “Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme!” it demanded, in sync with the movements of its hips. You were searching the desk for something that would be safe to penetrate something so small, realizing that you really should have gone to get supplies, but unable (maybe unwilling) to stop now. You were starting to feel hot all over, sort of like how you felt when you were having a sex dream, and realized you were definitely being affected by Dere’s heat. You pulled your fingertip away from its pelvis, ignoring its cries of desperation, and used your non-dominant hand to spread its jiggly thighs apart as wide as you could get them. The “fuck me” chorus had not ended, and had you been more in possession of yourself, you might have told it to shut the fuck up. Instead, you pushed your pinky finger at its entrance, surprised when it slid in fairly easily. It was still a tight fit, and to the bitty, it must have felt like fucking a tree, but it had asked for this, after all. You gave Dere, whose cries had cut off and been replaced with heavy breathing, a moment to adjust, before pulling your digit back and thrusting it back in. At this, it let out a wordless moan.

“Do you like it?” you asked, not expecting an answer, as you continued to pull your smallest finger in and out of its pussy. The sloppy sounds its entrance was making were answer enough.

“YES!” Dere moaned, grasping at the hand that was spreading its legs and squeezing tight. “I… love it! Fuck me more!”

You sped up the pace of your finger, and removed your other hand from its legs, trusting it to keep itself open for you. You placed one fingertip from your other hand back on the outside of its pussy and began to rub once more. The noises it was making grew in volume, and you took that as license to fuck it harder. Your whole body was tingling now, and you thought that with the slightest provocation, you might come harder than you ever had in your life.

“Please, please, I’m so close!” Dere howled, pushing itself back into your thrusts. “Aaaaah, more, please more!” You pushed your finger as far as it could go inside it, and pressed down harder on its pelvis, to where you could swear you heard its bones creak. That was all it took for the bitty to come explosively, as it screamed, shook, and gushed fluid onto your hand. You couldn’t help it—you removed the fingertip that was rubbing him and shoved that hand into your pants, going off like a thunderclap yourself at the very first touch. 

When you came back to awareness, your head was slumped onto the desk, and Dere was staring at you, still panting. It hadn’t covered itself back up, and you could see exactly how wide you’d fucked open its tiny pussy. “That was… great,” it panted out. “I’m… not done with my heat, though.”

You blinked a couple times, head slightly clearer, and felt pretty gross about what you had just done. Could bitties even consent? This one seemed to understand what was happening, but…

Dere spoke up again, interrupting your train of thought. “Do you think you could… stretch me more this time?” You could tell it was trying to be sexy, and to your shame, it was working. Your brain was already working overtime to think of things the right size to fuck it with. 

“Only if I can tie you up,” your mouth responded, seemingly without connection to your head.

“Oh~! I like you,” Dere said, flipping up its skirt and bending over. “Make me come again and we’ll talk,” it said with a wink.

You didn’t know what in the ever-loving fuck you’d just gotten into, but you didn’t think you’d be calling any of those other shelters. This thing was, in fact, a freak just like you.


	2. sweet as blood red jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE TORTURE PORN VERSION. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE HERE FOR THE ACTUAL PORN.
> 
> Dere is a brat, and brats are gonna have a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO SERIOUSLY. Please don't read if the idea of a bitty getting fucked to death freaks you out. Go. Shoo. Out. Read the first chapter again.

“I don’t CARE about obligations, I’m getting the FUCK out of here,” your (soon to be ex-) roommate almost shouted, tossing clothing from her closet into a waiting duffel bag. “You have some SERIOUS problems, and I’m not dealing with it any longer.”

She may have been partially right, but it was still rude to storm out on her half of the lease and leave you to make up the rent until you got a new roommate. As it was, you’d thrown up your hands on the situation when she went through your laptop, found your porn stash, and freaked out. So what if you were into some kinky shit? You never even brought anyone home, while she was making a racket three times a week, which was not a very neighborly thing to do, in your opinion. Apparently, her Christianity didn’t permit her to live with a dirty pervert, while running through half of the local university’s Class of 2023 was perfectly fine.

From your place on the couch, you could hear her dragging boxes and bags out to her car. You tried to block out the noise, flipping from channel to channel on the apartment’s TV until you heard a small jingle. “Keys are on the counter,” she said by way of goodbye, and shut the door.

  
You waited a few moments to make sure she wasn’t coming back, and then went to her room to see what kind of shape it was in. You’d probably have to do some cleaning before you could advertise for the vacancy. The bed, dresser, and desk were all where they were when you had moved in, as it should have been, while all of her pictures and posters had been removed from the walls. Maybe the cleaning wouldn’t have to be too intense. All was well in your mind until you noticed the cage still resting on the dresser. The… occupied cage.

  
You left the room, running out the front door in hopes that you might catch her in time. You were lucky, as when you reached the parking lot, she was just getting into her car. “Hey, you forgot your… bitty thing!”

  
She didn’t even turn around, just kept buckling her seat belt with the car door open. “You can keep that thing. I thought it would be a cute pet, but it’s as disgusting as you are! You freaks deserve each other.” With that, she closed her door and peeled out, wheels not leaving rubber on the pavement, but coming close.

  
You stood there for a moment, mostly at a loss. You were fine with getting a new roommate, and even had some savings to cover the rent. The real wrench in the works was the bitty. You didn’t particularly like pets to begin with, and had asked her to keep hers in her room while she lived there so you wouldn’t have to deal with it. She’d been good at keeping to that, at least; now you would have to go inside and deal with it. You dragged your feet walking back upstairs, thinking of what to tell it. Was it even intelligent? Was it smart like a person, or… you’d heard some bitties were essentially toddlers mentally. That would not be easy to handle.

  
When you reached the doorway to her room (not her room anymore, but the second bedroom), you took a deep breath to steady yourself and walked over to the cage. It was a lot like a hamster cage, you noted, right down to the exercise wheel. The bottom was covered in carpet, not shavings, but close enough. You leaned over the top of the cage and cleared your throat, figuring you’d let it start the conversation. Sure enough, it stepped out from the covered “house” in the corner, where you assumed it slept. You’d never seen it up close before, and took a couple of seconds to blink at its strange appearance. Your ex-roommate had told you it was a “Swap Yanyan” type, essentially a Sans version of the more common Yandere Papyrus. You weren’t sure what that meant, knowing next to nothing about bitties except that they were skeleton creatures. Therefore, you were surprised to see that this one had plenty of green-tinged ecto-flesh on its bones. It was overall short and plump, with a bratty expression on its face. It almost appeared to be wearing makeup, and was dressed in some sort of… ribbon top tied into a bow, with a matching pink miniskirt. Gold-colored plastic jewelry fairly dripped from its neck and head. It was, possibly, the weirdest damn thing you’d ever laid eyes on. It appeared to think the same about you, and eyed you warily. “You’re… not my owner.”

  
“Uh… no, no I’m not,” you responded. Okay, so it wasn’t entirely stupid. Maybe you could work with that. “Um… it doesn’t seem as though she’s coming back,” you continued, watching the bitty waddle over to the bars to glare at you more directly, like this was somehow your fault.

  
“I guess you’ll be looking after me from now on, then,” the thing spoke nonchalantly, shrugging a shoulder and putting its nose in the air. “Get me something to eat.”

  
Okay, no. You were already having a rough day, and this spoiled little meatball was not going to start ordering you around. “Excuse me?”

  
“You heard me,” it said, in the same haughty tone. “I’m hungry. I want some meat.”

  
Well, that was not going to fly. “It looks like you’ve had more than enough to eat, you little brat,” you replied. “You’d better start being respectful, because I’m the one who will be deciding what happens to you from here on out.” You didn’t understand why you felt so angry, except that this thing reminded you of your departed roomie, and you were absolutely pissed at her.

  
The bitty’s glare faltered for a second, and then it spoke again, in a softer tone. “…I really am hungry, though,” it said, pouting. It seemed that was as close to an apology as you were going to get.

“I’ll see what I can find,” you said. “Do you… have a name, or something? I can’t just call you “hey you” forever.”

  
“My species is “Dere,”” it answered. “She never gave me a different name.” You weren't about to, either, you thought to yourself. Not wanting to hear the sob story at this exact moment, you turned and walked toward the kitchen, tapping at your phone. Apparently this type of bitty did eat raw meat, and liked sweets. You knew there was no meat in the kitchen, but wondered if it would put up with lunch meat. At the very least, you’d have to feed it until you could get it to a shelter of some kind. You weren’t going to keep the thing, after all.

  
The bitty—Dere, you reminded yourself—turned its nose up at the slices of ham at first, but when you looked away, it began stuffing its face. “Are you good for now?” you asked, wanting to get started on calling the local shelters.

  
You shouldn’t have asked, honestly, because when Dere opened its mouth you knew there was, in fact, something else. “Um… could you…” it began, trailing off and blushing green. It didn’t have blood—how could it blush?

  
“What,” you said, losing patience with the dithering.

  
“Um… could you… maybe hold me for a minute?” it asked nervously.

  
You rolled your eyes internally, but tried not to show it on the outside—these things were so needy, and you didn’t want to hear it whining if you refused. After another deep breath, you reached for the locks on the cage and held your hand out to the bitty. It let you grasp it around its middle and remove it from the cage, and then place it sitting up into the palm of your other hand. Its legs dangled off the side of your palm, and you marveled at how heavy it was. A couple of seconds later, your wrist was getting tired, and you moved to put Dere back in its cage. It began whining when it realized what you were doing, and wrapped its arms tightly around your thumb. “Please don’t!” it shouted, clinging on as tight as it could. “Just… a little bit longer?”

  
It really was getting heavy to hold, so you cupped your other hand around its back and brought it to rest against your chest. It wasn’t exactly pleasing to cuddle, and its shiny, bony skull creeped you out, but you grit your teeth and tried to deal. Dere finally seemed to relax, going limp against you and trilling out something a lot like a purr. Okay, that was about all the snuggles you could handle; you were not having fun and didn’t want it getting attached. “Is that enough now?” you asked.

  
“…yeah,” it answered, although you could tell it wasn’t the truth. “You can put me down.” You took Dere at its word, and placed it back onto the carpet inside the cage. You really did need to figure out what to do with it, though, and you couldn’t do that with it staring at you.  
You left the room and went back to the couch, scrolling through your phone and looking at the different pet shelters in your area. Most of them didn’t accept bitties at all, and the ones that did were a substantial drive away. There was only one facility less than an hour from your address, and you clicked on the phone number to call.

  
\-----

  
“Okay, thank you. Bye,” you said, then pressed the button to hang up and sighed. The nearby facility did accept bitties, but it was seriously overfull. The employee had said that if the bitty wasn’t yours, you could bring it there, but it would probably be put down in short order, because it wasn’t a desirable type like a Blueberry or Cherry. You REALLY didn’t want to keep Dere, it was rude and kind of nasty to look at, but you’d feel weird taking it somewhere just to be euthanized. Maybe… I mean, what did people usually do with small, unwanted pets, besides bring them to a shelter? Could bitties drown? Would one die if you microwaved it? But… you wouldn’t drown a cat or a dog! Then again… you had drowned mice and rats that were caught in traps before. Dere wasn’t a person, after all, and wasn’t nearly as empathy-inspiring as your average puppy or kitten… You shook your head to clear away those kinds of thoughts, somewhat astounded that you’d even thought them in the first place. You’d find somewhere that would take the bitty in as soon as possible, and that was that.

  
It was after five, so maybe you’d call some of the facilities further away tomorrow. As it was, you felt like you should probably go check on Dere again—it had been about an hour, and you never knew what small animals would do when left alone. You got up and walked back into the second bedroom. “Hey, uh, it looks like…” you trailed off, as you immediately got a sense that things weren’t right.

  
The first thing you noticed was the smell. You couldn’t place it, but the air had a definite tang that hadn’t been there before. The second thing you noticed was the noises coming from the bitty cage. Had it been sick? Maybe the lunch meat hadn’t been a great idea. You walked over to check it out, and were surprised by what you saw, for the second time that day. Dere was kneeling on the floor of the cage, knees splayed around a bright greenish-blue puddle. You would have thought it had had an accident, but for the bony hand furiously working between its knees. The sounds you thought had been pain were actually desperate moans as the bitty rubbed itself frantically. It appeared to have manifested female genitals, although you weren’t sure if that was the usual state of affairs. Either way, you had trouble on your hands, and… had it always been so hot in here? “What are you doing?” you asked, feeling slightly dizzy.

  
“Heat,” Dere moaned, seemingly incapable of a complete sentence. “Fuuuuuck,” it moaned again, flopping backward, thrashing around. It did not seem happy, and your hand went immediately to your phone. Bittybones heat, you typed in, and quickly scanned the results. From what you read, a touch-starved bitty could be triggered into heat just from an affectionate touch, which might be what had happened here (much to your regret). According to the Internet, you’d have to do something about this, or Dere would literally die. You shuddered. You… really didn’t want to do anything about it. How long did it take for a bitty to die if its heat was left alone? Could you just wait it out? No, that was pretty awful. Maybe you could sacrifice a bullet vibrator and get a new one later?

  
Either way, you couldn’t leave it this way. You popped open the cage door and picked up the bitty inside, grimacing slightly at the fluids that dripped onto your hand, and then carried it over to the desk. You placed it on the unused desk planner that remained, figuring that the paper would at least provide some cushion, and pulled back to contemplate your options. Dere noticed the lack of touch immediately, and looked at you with hazy eyes. “Fuck me,” it demanded, hand continuing to work between its legs. “Fuck me right now!”

  
Apparently, heat didn’t make it any less of a brat, you thought. “Look, you bossy little runt,” you started, “I am… really not interested. I am not into whatever you are, or whatever this is. Is there some way you can figure this out yourself?”

  
To say your question did not produce a rational response would be a grave understatement. Faster than you’d think something so chubby could move, Dere tackled your hand, arms around your wrist, and sank its teeth into you. Before you could react to the sharp pain, it was humping its crotch against the juncture between your hand and arm, and you recoiled at the feeling of hot, viscous goop running down to your fingers. “Ugh!” you shouted, shaking your arm to try to dislodge the bitty. It wouldn’t let go, and the pain where it had bitten you only grew worse. “Let go of me, you disgusting little freak!”

Dere did not let go, and it didn’t stop grinding itself against you, but it did remove its teeth from your arm. You took the opportunity to yank it away with your other hand, tossing it back on the desk with little regard for its well-being. You heard a crack as its skull hit the wood of the desk, but (unfortunately, you thought) it didn’t turn to dust. “Fucking brat!” you shouted, about ready to lose it completely. Dere… didn’t even seem to have noticed, and looked as though it had forgotten you were in the room. It hadn’t even turned over from its belly, and had replaced its bony fingers against its little clit. It had begun a droning litany of “fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme,” that didn’t seem to be directed at you or anyone in particular. Your wrist was covered in your own blood and Dere’s slime, and at this point, you were really, incredibly done.

  
You yanked Dere back toward you by one fat leg, rolled it over, and used your non-dominant hand to spread its jiggly thighs apart as wide as you could get them. The “fuck me” chorus had not ended, and it took all your patience not to tell it to shut the fuck up. Instead, you probed its dripping entrance with your pinky finger. It wanted to get fucked? You’d give it a fuck it would never forget. Your finger was a tight fit, and to the bitty, it must have felt like fucking a tree, but it had asked for this, after all. You pushed your finger in as deep as it would go, and Dere suddenly fell silent. Then, it began to wail wordlessly.

  
“Do you like it?” you asked acidly, not expecting an answer, as you continued to pull your smallest finger in and out of its pussy at a rapid pace. The sloppy sounds its entrance was making were answer enough, you thought.

  
Dere had started making noise again, but it was more sobbing now than moaning. Green tears dripped from its eye sockets, and the string of “fuck me” had been replaced by “stopstopstopstopSTOP!” You weren’t particularly inclined to grant its request—where was that slutty attitude from moments ago? You sped up the pace of your finger’s thrusting, feeling the squish of its insides around your digit. Green fluid dripped copiously down your hand. Dere was full-on screaming now, but you were too strong for it, and held its legs down.

  
“Please, please, no!” Dere howled, wiggling its hips in a futile attempt to escape you. “Aaaaah, it hurts, it hurts!” Indifferent to its cries, you pushed your finger as far as it could go inside it, and twisted your hand in a corkscrewing motion. That was all it took—Dere let out a final, desperate yowl, bucked its hips one more time, and then its eyelights went dark. You saw its ecto-flesh dissipate, and looked on in fascination as the bones beneath fractured, and then crumbled into dust. Only the cheap plastic jewelry and the slutty outfit were left behind.

  
You blinked a couple times, anger fading as you considered what you’d just done. Yikes. You had wanted Dere gone, but it hadn’t been your intention to fuck it to death—really! You’d just forgotten! You thought you'd just rough it up a little. You'd even thought it would like it. You couldn’t imagine the pain it had been in before it died, its tiny body essentially cored out through its pussy by the smallest of your inch-long acrylic nails.

"Well, what's done is dusted," you joked to yourself, although you still felt kind of bad, just like when you'd had to drown the mouse that had gotten stuck to the kitchen glue trap. At least that took care of the problem of what to do with the bratty little bitty. Now, to find a new roommate... one without any nasty, bony little pets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this was inspired by the fact that my nails are incredibly long and decorative right now (although they're not fake). I wondered if I could write a person who wasn't really malicious in their actions, but just unthinking and indifferent to the life of something like a Bitty.


End file.
